The States From A Z
by RainKrystal
Summary: The States in United States, spelled out from A - Z. T for safety, and for some swearing. Contains OCs, you have been warned.
1. I

**Warning:** Contains OCs, so if you don't want to see the States in United States, you're in the wrong place.

**Diclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia. If I did, I'd be very rich indeed.

**Rating:** K+. Nothing that really warrants a higher rating, it's most gen and fluff. That, and I did censor England's dirty mouth for the ost part.

**Note: **These are my OCs for the States and American Territories, if you want to see more of them, go to my profile, and follow the links please.

**

* * *

**

**A **is appliances; "New Jersey," New York asks as he stares at the strange device in New Jersey's kitchen. "What's the third tap for on your sink?" New Jersey turns away from her soup to look at the sink in question. "Oh that." New Jersey dismisses the device in question with a wave of her hand. She continues stirring her soup, and explains as if it makes all the sense in the world; "It's for coffee." New York stands flabbergasted as Massachusetts pulls his head out of New Jersey's fridge, carrying a package of beef. "How did you manage that?!" He asks incredulously. New Jersey smiles wickedly at her friends; "I know a guy." Massachusetts and New York both shudder.

**B **is for beauty; "It's beautiful…" Idaho breathes as she looks out over the mountainside in the early morning mist. Washington smiles as his neighbor absorbs the sight in wonder. "Just wait until the sun rises; it gets better."

**C **is for Creole; it's Louisiana's own dialect of French, as well as something she shares with Haiti; but as any native could tell you, it's spoken a little differently around New Orleans. Texas watches in amazement as Louisiana laughs with two younger children in the park, and chatters to their mother in fluent Creole, smiling happily. Texas loves that smile, and something about Creole just seems conducive for spreading it.

**D **is for daughters; America has fifteen of them, though it's actually seventeen if you count the U.S. Virgin Islands and The Northern Mariana Islands. America loves all his adopted children, but everyone in the family knows that he has a special soft spot for his girls.

**E **is for eventually; Pennsylvania says that word a lot, Delaware notes. Mostly in the context of "I'll do the dishes eventually," or "I'll fix the heater eventually." In fact, it seems to be Pennsylvania's go to phrase when he needs to procrastinate away a task, which is often. So it does make sense that he says it at least twice per conversation.

**F **is for freedom; an ideal that the States were taught to uphold from the day they were "born." Ever since they were tiny, America had taught his children to stand to true to what they believe in. Now that most of them are full grown, he finds himself immeasurably proud of the things they have done, and the fact that they've all always been stubborn little twits since the very beginning.

**G** is for growth; Puerto Rico hasn't grown at all since after he left Spain to live with America. In fact, neither has Guam. It doesn't matter much to either of them though; who wants to grow up, anyways? Their "dad" certainly never did.

**H** is for hearts; the States know their hearts are where they have the strongest connection to their people. For many of them, their heart is in their capital, though for some like New York and Massachusetts, the heart is where the home is; planted squarely in their largest city.

**I** is for impossible; West Virginia and New Mexico stare at the pickle jar on the table in annoyance as Texas walks up. "Pickle jar?" He asks. The two other States nod. "Yeah." Texas rolls up his sleeve, and holds his hand out. "Y'all are wimps. Let a real man try." West Virginia grumbles as he hands the jar over to the tall State, and the cowboy grins as he gets a firm grip on the top. "…" Texas's face scrunches up in concentration. "Uhm…" New Mexico smirks at his friend. "What were you saying, _amigo?_" Texas growls, "Shut up, _compadre_. This thing is really..." Texas grunts again as he twists the top vainly. "Stuck." Virginia silently walks up and taps Texas on the back. "Give it." She says simply. Texas gives Virginia the pickle jar, and the elder State opens the jar in one go, deftly wrenching off the top. "What were you saying about a 'real man,' Clyde?" Virginia glares at her younger "brother." Texas just grins sheepishly and hangs his head, bracing for impact. Virginia pulls back her hand, and dope smacks Texas routinely on the back of the head. "Exactly."

**J** is for joy; "Okay, when we go over the falls, you're going to have to hold on tight to your oar if you don't want to lose it, okay?" Arizona listens to New Hampshire's instructions as the elder State launches them into the white water rapids. Ahead, Arizona can see Idaho in a single person kayak, helmet on as the Western State tumbles over the falls. "Ready…" New Hampshire counts off as they approaching the roaring waters, and Arizona grips the oar tightly in her hands in preparation, slicing through the rapids in even strokes. "Here… We… Go!" Arizona yells for joy as they launch over the falls, screaming happily in the sunlight and spray. "Wahoo!"

**K** is for kids; the Territories and Commonwealths are just that. They're kids. Granted, they're kids who are over a hundred year old, but they're still kids, both mentally and physically. Puerto Rico and Guam are the oldest, and they still look like they're twelve for crying out loud. This is something America has to keep in mind when they get tired and pass out after intense activity. _'You guys had a full day, huh?'_ He thinks as he hefts the sleeping American Samoa over his shoulder, and tucks the Northern Mariana Islands under his other arm to take them both upstairs to their bedrooms. _'We'll have another awesome day tomorrow, I promise.'_

**L** is for listening; Maine is a good listener. He can't help it. When your job is to listen to static all day in the hopes of finding good information in the snow, you learn to be glad for any sort of human voice at all, even if the people Maine listens too aren't even technically human. Unfortunately for Maine, being a good listener has made him the go-to shoulder to cry on for the rest of his family. And Maine's family is crazy.

**M** is for meals; Tennessee plops North Carolina down into the chair by the table. "Eat." She commands. "Look, Hattie, I just came to ask if you'd seen my big brother-" He's abruptly cut off by a forkful of mashed potatoes that enters his mouth as Tennessee again intones; **"Eat." **North Carolina gulps.

**N **is for neighbors; Mexico and Canada have learned to deal with surprise visits from their "nieces" and "nephews." After all, there's not much one can really do when someone as big as Texas decides to pop in on his "aunt." Mexico doesn't really mind that much, since a few of America's kids used to live with her before they did with him, and it's given her a chance to make up with Texas for his revolution. Canada's happy for the visits, since the States are usually far better at remembering who he is than America. Washington at the very least makes an effort to visit his "uncle" when he can. Both of America's neighbors are secretly glad for the large family of their brother's, since by extension, it has become their family too.

**O** is for opposition; New York and Massachusetts have been at each others' throats for as long as New Jersey can remember. She doesn't think anyone knows what their first fight was even about anymore, but no one has much of a mind to find out. "Wear the t-shirt shirt, Massachusetts!" New York yells as he chases down his rival with the t-shirt cannon. Massachusetts screams; "Not on your life you Yankee asshole!" New Jersey certainly doesn't care what started _this_ latest battle, as it's far too entertaining. _'Maybe I should start taping these things...'_ She muses as she muches on her popcorn by the side of the road. _'I could make some good money off of them...'_

**P** is for pranks; Michigan wipes his brow and smiles grandly at the display in front of him. He turns proudly to his partner in crime, and he and Florida look up at the work of art they've created. Michigan whistles lowly as Florida remarks that; "Utah is gonna be _sooo_ pissed when he wakes up in the morning." Michigan grins at his rival and queen of pranking. "The bear was a nice touch. Where did you find that, by the way?" Florida grins maliciously; "I know a guy."

**Q** is for questions; "Why?" American Samoa asks Maryland as the scientist leans over the microscope on the table. "Because we need to classify the protists." The U.S. Virgin Islands asks, "Why?" Maryland blows the hair out of his eyes as he readjusts the microscope lens. "Because now that we have ways to identify organisms by DNA, we're finding that Kingdom Protista might need to be differently classified." American Samoa pokes at a beaker on the table and aks; "Why?" Maryland lets out ad exasperated sigh. "Because that's how science works." Both of the Territories share a glance, and say in tandem; "Why?" Maryland pulls away from the microscope to look incredulously at them. "Because it just _does._ Seriously, don't you guys know _anything_ about science?"

**R** is for random; "Hold up, Cyrus, I think I see our guy." West Virginia says covertly into his earpiece as he trails his mark. Maine holds his breath back at Naval Intelligence, waiting to hear if West Virginia will catch the runner they'd lost in D.C. a few weeks ago. Suddenly static cuts in over the transmission, and Maine begins to panic, wondering who or what could have cut his connection to West Virginia. "Hi there!" A perky voice says into his headphones as the static fades out. "So… Maine, I was wondering, do you know if squirrels can eat cheese whiz, 'cause Senor Portobello over here isn't looking to great." Maine's blood pounds in his ears as he yells into his headset's microphone; "FLORIDA, STOP CALLING ME AT WORK!"

**S** is for speed; "There she is boys; an R8." Indiana says proudly as he gestures to the shining speed machine in the mechanic's garage. South Carolina lets out an impressed wolf-whistle. "She's a beaut, there Virgil." Michigan simply stares in awe at the beautiful contraption. "Can I drive it?" He asks breathlessly. Indiana looks at South Carolina, and for a moment the two of them share a look before they collapse into laugher "Ahahahahaha!" Indiana wipes a tear out of his eye as he stands up again. "Aha." He walks over to Michigan and slaps his friend on the back heartily. "No."

**T** is for tragedy; if nothing else, the States are a family. No matter what happens to one of them, the others will always be there to help in any way they can, and to face their enemy with a united front. Even bitter rivalries are laid aside until after the crisis passes; in times of hardship they always succeed in reminding outsiders why America's full title is the _**United **_States of America.

**U** is for unbelievable; Missouri finds it unbelievable that he should still care about California, even after she had changed so drastically within such a short time. As she teaches him how to make a tie-dye t-shirt, he wonders if it's because he's had fifty years to get to learn how to love the new side of California just as much as he did before his world became irreparably changed by sunshine and activism. Either way, his hands are still stained blue now. Missouri groans as he looks down at them, as he thinks in annoyance; _'It's going to take forever to get this off...' 'It's worth it.'_ The little voice in his head tells him. Missouri surely doesn't doubt that much for a second.

**V **is for voting; "Are they always like this?" England questions as outside, the States are shouting and raving at the top of their lungs on America's front lawn. England can faintly hear political slogans shouted over the din, and looking out of the second-story window, he can see the States in two crowds; one dressed all in red, the other in blue. "Is… Is your daughter riding an elephant?!" America frowns at the other Nation and keeps watching the football game, and mostly ignores the question. "England, they're not actually my kids. I'm too young to be a parent." England startles as a balloon filled with blue paint collides with the window. "F**k!" He yells, and America takes it nonchalantly in his stride. "Don't worry, they only really ever get _this_ bad for election years." The younger Nation chuckles. "You should have seen waht happened in 2000."

**W** is for west; the West is a very distinct bit of America's family. Although the meaning and grouping of the land known simply as "the West" had changed with the years as America had expanded from sea to shining sea; the West is just as a much a solid unit in the same way as the North and the South have ever been.

**X **is for xenophobia; or the hatred and fear of outsiders. Whenever England finds himself visiting America, if he's met by a State, he's sure to find his back riddled with angry glares. England frowns as he recieves yet another dirty look from American Samoa. "America, I don't think your children like me very much…" The younger Nation laughs heartily and slaps England on the back so hard that he almost falls over. "Of course they don't, Iggy! They hate you!" England sputters indignantly. "Well you could at least try to have _some_ sort of tact about it!"

**Y** is for "You're serious?"; North Dakota looks incredulously at America from across the kitchen table. "Yeah, I'm serious. If you guys want, we can get you both separate houses in each of your own states." South Dakota just stares at his "father" in disbelief. "Dad, we _like_ sharing a house." The Southern twin continues, "If we didn't, we wouldn't _be_ here." North Dakota speaks up again as America frowns in confusion; "Besides, this helps cut down on the chores, no to mention the rent." North Dakota strums a guitar chord as he muses; "Anyway, wouldn't it be really hard to run a band out of two garages?"

**Z** is for Zen; something that Hawaii undeniably is. After all, living in the family that she does, and remaining sane enough to dispense koans to anyone who needs one is quite a feat of inner stability; how could she possibly anything _but_ Zen? That, and when she meditates, she actually lifts off the ground sometimes. It's quite impressive.


	2. II

**Warning: **OCs contained within.  
**Diclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia. If I did, I'd be very rich indeed. The States are mine, however.  
**Rating:** K+  
**Note:** I didn't actually plan on writing another chapter, but this one was over six pages long when finished so I hope it was worth the wait.**

* * *

**A is for action; as in both the noun and the genre of movies. America and his family have never been good at sitting still, or generally being inactive. They have to feel like they're doing _something_, like making improvements, regardless of whether they're big or small. Things like how Texas and Indiana got together one Thanksgiving and changed out every broken light bulb in the D.C. house, or how every year Delaware and Tennessee organize the others in cleaning the very messy house from top to bottom. Usually, any sort of action just results in America's house getting cleaned, and everyone crowding around to watch a good action movie that California brought. A is also for arguments over _which _movie to watch, exactly.

**B** is for belief; in faith and trust, though maybe not quite pixie dust. Belief in each other, mostly, and the unsinkable sense of optimism that surrounds the States. Even the pessimists among them go about their days with a little bit of hope. In fact, it's usually the pessimists like Missouri and Minnesota who remind the others that things can get worse, so they instead focus on making things better where they can. B is also for blatant lies when said pessimists refuse to admit that they're really more optimistic than all the others.

**C** is for cars; is for cars, namely the ones that Indiana fixes for a living. Mechanic work something that he picked up during the wars and never really put down. He likes mechanical things, engines specifically. It had started with tanks, then moved on to humvees, then eventually onto those small fiddly little eco-car thingies that California is so wild about. Indiana doesn't mind terribly the fact that he gets completely covered with engine grease every day because he always insists on climbing inside the belly of the car to do his work, since it ensures that he gets his job done. Indiana is still too used to fixing military equipment even after all this time away from the wars. Michigan helps run the front of the garage and runs the advertising that helps keep Indiana in business when he's not off pranking the daylights out of someone, and every now and again South Carolina will visit because his left rear wheel is squeaking funny, or Texas will stop by because he thought of a new car design and want to run it by the two people he knows who spend the most time around cars. And no matter who come to visit Indiana and Michigan, they always bring something to drink, and an interesting day. All in all, Indiana figures it's not a bad way to make a living.

**D **is for determination; Hawaii stares at her scarred left leg with a fierce stare as it twitches from nervousness under the conference table. She's hosting the meeting this time, and has to make the opening remarks. And she refuses to hobble up to the front of the table. Alaska glances at her with a strange expression, holding his hand out under the table as if to say "I'm here to help."  
The youngest State shakes her head. _'I can do this.'_ Hawaii tells herself, taking a deep breath. Gritting her teeth and squaring her jaw, Hawaii stands up and walks swiftly over to the head of the table, papers in hand, moving in a quick, even step. Left, right, left, right. Eventually Hawaii reaches the front, and with an exhale of relief, she opens the fists she didn't realize she'd been clenching. "Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to this year's progress review meeting." She greets the other forty-nine people in the room with a smile. "We're gathered here today to review the year that passed, and make our plans for the one to follow."  
As Hawaii continues her small speech, she catches Alaska's eye. The other non-continental State nods almost imperceptibly with a tiny smile at her as if to say; "I knew you could do it." Hawaii's smile widens in triumph, as she nods back at Alaska.

**E** is for earth; New Jersey stands in her garden and smiles. Sunny springtime watching the birds fly past as her plants do nothing other than _grow-_ it's almost too good to be true. Settling down in the fertile ground, New Jersey closes her eyes and tries to soak in everything about the day. She's had many like this before, but every day in the sun with her garden is a novelty all its own and she'll remember every one of them until her dying day.

**F **is for is for fragile; owning anything breakable is not advisable if one plans on spending any time at all around the States. Things tend to shatter rather easily if one spends too much time around any of them. Whether they do the breaking, or you're the one to do the throwing and simply grab whatever happens to be closest at hand, things of value and fragility are perilous things to bring when visiting America's family. F is also for fury, something often caused by overexposure to the annoyances known as the States.

**G** is for "good lord, what happened here?"; Connecticut stares incredulously at the ruined mess of what seems to have once been Rhode Island's kitchen at some point, blue eyes wide in disbelief. Rhode Island stands in the center of the kitchen, looking sooty and rather annoyed with the world. "Are you okay?" He asks his neighbor nervously.  
Rhode Island makes a nonchalant gesture with his left hand, and shrugs a little, his other hand on the nozzle of the fire extinguisher that appears to have gotten its fair share of use recently. "I'm fine." Rhode Island tells his neighbor. "I just had a little oven fire, is all. I tired to make a soufflé."  
Connecticut just blinks at his friend. Rhode Island is possibly the only person who can retain his dignity under circumstances like this. Another spurt of flame escapes the charred oven, and Connecticut yelps. Rhode Island simply sprays the oven with the bright red, metal fire extinguisher without looking, the jet of carbon dioxide putting it out. Having forgotten why he originally came and no better idea of what to do in this situation, Connecticut picks up the professional camera hanging from its strap around his neck and snaps a picture. "For posterity, of course." He later assures his friend as they eat out at a small restaurant in Providence.

**H** is for horror; America isn't the only one who's afraid of ghosts. California knows this, so she continues to make scary movies year after year. Granted, her taste has deepened from simply "The Attack of the 50 Foot Whatever," but now it seems to all be about icky red corn syrup. She doesn't quite mind. As long as she can keep bringing in the money when she shows off her films overseas, she doesn't care at all. And if she manages to scare the living daylights out of her family… Well, that's just a bonus.

**I **is for irritation; Mississippi prides herself on her tolerance of her family. She finds it a miracle that she puts up with them with what she assumes to be stunning restraint, all things considered. However, even Mississippi's patience has its limits. Finding South Carolina peeping on her one morning as she swims in her namesake river is one of the places where she draws the line, usually by enlisting Virginia's help. And several blunt objects.

**J **is for joker; the wild card, the person who can be anything that's required of them at the right moment. Flexible, loose and cunning; the ultimate spy. Something Idaho most certainly is not, at least not on the surface. In actuality, she's less of the wild card and more of the joker itself, loud, obnoxious and barely restrained; she tends to shock her opponents into underestimating her. After all, how could that annoying American girl with the missing teeth and the too-loud laugh have stolen the documents? She can't even speak Russian in the first place, let alone have pulled off something as intricate as stealing important papers from the KGB without a trace. Idaho whistles a happy tune on her flight back into the States, another adventure successfully completed.

**K** is for kindness; random acts of, to be precise. Some days are too much for Delaware to handle. Stopping fights; trying to balance out Massachusetts and New York as they come to her so she can settle an argument; getting Pennsylvania motivated while he tries to sleep off a sugar crash- some days Delaware gets in a little over her head. Sighing tiredly, Delaware stumbles into her house through the kitchen door and flicks on a light switch. Slumping down into the chair at the kitchen table, Delaware lets her forehead hit the table softly while she groans. Except, her forehead doesn't hit the plastic table, but instead something soft. Opening her eyes, she pulls her head up and looks at the offending object. Picking the note off the table, Delaware reads it to herself. _"Sorry we're such a pain. Thanks for everything, from, the guys." _Below that, shesees some writing followed by a set of scrawls that marks it from Massachusetts, Pennsylvania and New York. Delaware smiles wryly as she picks up the small teddy bear. Clutched in its paws is a bar of chocolate. Delaware looks at the note again and turns it over to see the other side. _"P.S. We, took some of Pennsylvania's chocolate. NY & MA."_ Delaware laughs softly to herself, shaking her head as she breaks off a piece of the Hershey bar and eats it. _'Tastes good.'_ She admits to herself before remembering that she'll have to admonish the baseball crazy States later for stealing from their "brother." But for now, Delaware's just going to enjoy the chocolate.

**L** is for laughter; as in the laughter of children, something that makes America terribly happy, especially when he hears it from his own adopted children. The Territories careen wildly about the playground three of them playing hide and seek with the other children there while Puerto Rico pushes the Virgin Islands on the wings as the little girl shrieks happily, insisting that he push her "Higher! Higher!"  
A human couple passes by, glancing at the beaming Nation. "Are they yours?" The woman asks as her own daughter yells and runs off to meet a friend. "They seem very sweet together."  
"Yep." America responds proudly as Guam chases after American Samoa screaming that the other Territory is a lying, dirty cheater. "They're all mine." L is also for love, the kind that fathers feel when they see their children happy and healthy.

**M** is for mornings; Maine smiles and takes another sip of his coffee as he sits out by the bay in the mists of the mid-winter morning. Around him, the air is frigid, but he doesn't much mind, wrapped up in warm clothes and his favorite coat. Glancing out across the harbor, Maine watches as slowly, slowly, the familiar orb of the sun rises over the Atlantic. He waits to watch the star rise farther into the sky over the next half hour, shaking off the lingering feeling of depression that comes with his winters while sipping contentedly at the thermos of coffee that's still vaguely warm in his hands. Maine knows he's going to feel like crap at work today, but he doesn't care all too much. It seems completely worth it just to see this.

**N** is for not; as in it's probably not a good idea when New York ribs New Jersey with an elbow one day after a meeting as she tries to gather her papers. "So, I heard some of your mayors were caught selling kidneys." He jokes, not seeing the warning twitch in his neighbor's hand, as if it was trying to pull the trigger of some invisible weapon. "I never really thought that you'd sink that low, but-" New York watches as the smaller State opens her briefcase to put her papers in, and beneath them, New York notices something shiny. And most likely dangerous. The blonde State swallows nervously, and then hastily leaves with an unintelligible, too-fast excuse shouted over his shoulder. Flashbacks to the 1920s beginning unpleasantly in his mind, New York resolves not to mention kidneys ever again if he wants to keep his. New Jersey smiles grimly to herself as she watches her annoying neighbor retreating out of the corner of her eye and buries the shiny thing a little deeper in her briefcase.

**O **is for opacity; reading Nevada is like trying to look through a solid brick wall. Nevada has the world's greatest poker face. Popularized most famously in Las Vegas, she's learned it very well. Unfortunately, Nevada uses it as her default expression, since she can't keep a secret for crap. And Nevada has a lot of secrets. "Area fifty-one." Florida questions her, looking serious in the stereotypical news reporter hat she bought from a costume shop. "Yes or no?" Nevada clams up and it's like a wall has descended behind her eyes, despite the fact that her body language denotes panic and desperation as she quickly walks away in jerky awkward motions, not really sure what to do other than scuttle away. Florida calls out after her retreating "sister;" "You can't bury the Truth forever!"

**P** is for programming; every State has their little superstitions, their rituals. Massachusetts doesn't go anywhere without a foul ball from the Game That Broke The Curse; Connecticut doesn't leave home without his camera in case he sees something he wants to remember; Indiana feels weird when not in mechanics overalls; and if California ever took of those rose-colored glasses of hers, someone would probably break their neck from the double take that would ensue. Everyone of them has their little things that put them at ease. Fortunately, this is one of the easier understood quirks among America's family- they all want to be unique, in whatever way they can.

**Q** is for quintillion; which can't possibly be a number, according to Maryland. "There!" Florida shouts happily as she barges into Maryland's laboratory one day. "I found it." She crows in triumph, hefting what looks like Webster's English Dictionary over her head.  
Maryland looks up from his work table, startled by his "sister's" sudden appearance. "Found what?" He asks in confusion.  
Florida slams down the book onto the table, crushing a delicate piece of equipment that Maryland was in the process of disassembling with a crunch that causes the scientist to wince. "_Quintillion; one followed by 18 zeros: the number equal to 10 to the 18th__, written as 1 followed by 18 zeros._" Florida reads off confidently. "In. Your. Face!" She cackles, the runs out of the room, leaving Maryland dazed and confused as he wonders if Florida came all this way just to prove a point.

**R **is for retribution; "Honestly, Michigan, what made you think planting a paint bomb over Ohio's seat was a good idea?" Delaware fusses at the bruise-covered State. "You had to have known she was gong to get back at you sooner rather than later." Wearing the same dazed grin he's had since he saw Ohio get absolutely _covered_ in pink paint during the climax of her speech to the rest of the States Michigan shrugs, then winces. Delaware sighs and suddenly tightens the bandages around one of the scratches the angry Ohio had left on her neighbor, causing Michigan to yelp a little. "You're going to look like crap for a while, you know." Delaware informs him. "And I can't imagine sitting down right now feels good." She adds. "You're going to have to tend to yourself later, uh… Down there…" The eldest State turns away, embarrassed. "What was this" -Delaware gestures to the mess left in the now abandoned meeting hall with a free hand- "even for, anyway?"  
Michigan's grin twists a little, suddenly looking much more feral, and triumphant. "Toledo." He says, something weird in his voice, his eyes faraway. "That was for my Statehood, _bitch_."  
Delaware startles, then tugs on the bandage sharply, with more force than necessarily needed to tie it off. "You better not be talking to _me_ that way." She warns him. And you better not talk to Ohio that way in the future if you don't want her to beat up on you again."

**S **is for sanity; something that erodes very quickly if you spend too much time around America and his States. Just ask England. It's a terror to behold the elder Nation rant about how "that bloody git can't keep his bloody family under control, the bloody bastards the lot of them and another thing-" Most people are kind enough to their ears to cut him off around there. After all, England's rants tend to wear away one's sanity as well.

**T **is for travel; something that Georgia enjoys. It's a wonderful thing, she thinks, to be able to go wherever she pleases in the world, visiting America's friends and allies. Georgia likes to visit Spain and the Italy brothers the most, since every time she sees them they're always happy to teach her some new dance move that has originated in Europe recently. Georgia always finds a way to return the favor, though it's usually by bringing several crates of tomatoes and a bottle or two of wine that she bought from California especially for the trip. It's interesting, it's fun, and watching Spain try and entice Romano into being his dance partner for these lessons is entertaining all by itself.

**U** is for ubiquitous; McDonalds is everywhere. Which is fine, considering that most States share their "father's" favorite food. However, for the few that don't, walking down the streets of their cities is often a problem. Such as Colorado. Skinnier than he should be, Tennessee has decided that her goal is to "feed him up." In Colorado's life, McDonalds is not the only thing that is everywhere now. In fact, he gets most of his exercise dodging Tennessee and her ridiculously portioned meals now. U is also for unwanted attention from well intentioned yet overzealous "big sisters."

**V** is for victories; the last-second and the triumphant, the hard-won and the bittersweet. The victories that were barely that; the ones that ached. All the scars and all the pain and all the things that came of them. America's family hates to lose, and so they don't, even when they do.

**W** is for why; as in, "Why, God, why do I have to be on a plane with _her_?" Washington groans as Idaho gets into the seat beside him, her blue eyes going wide with happy surprise.  
"Hi there!" She says sunnily, sitting next to her neighbor. "I didn't know you were going to visit Isreal, too, Washington!"  
Washington blinks hard as the plane begins to take off. "Isreal?" He snorts in disbelief. "This is my connecting flight to Ontario. You're on the wrong plane, Idaho."  
"Nu-uh." She says, looking slightly confused, her mouth turned down into a small uncharacteristic frown as she fishes in her pocket for her plane ticket. "See," she says, thrusting the piece of paper at her "brother;" "Flight 347 to Ben Gurion International. I think you're the one on the wrong plane; I checked that I was on the right flight twice today." Idaho informs him. Washington stares at the paper in pure, undisguised horror as a silent scream tears out of him. It's going to be a long, painful set of hours.

**X** is for XD; as in the happy and impossibly painful-looking to make kind of face that California makes when Indiana finally agrees to taking a look at her design for the electric car. X is also the fact that almost no words start with the letter X, and Pennsylvania has a hobby of tracking down as many words that start with that letter as he can.

**Y** is for Yankee; for everyone outside the family, it means anyone inside the family. For everyone inside the family, it means New York. For New York, it means his favorite baseball team. In any case, the name started when England made fun of America way back when. Now, Massachusetts uses it to make fun of New York, and it mostly backfires when the younger State takes pride in the title.

**Z **is for zippers; fashion in the Eighties was not pleasant for anyone to look back on. The less said about some of the States' choice in clothes during that time, the better for everyone involved. Let's just say that it was… Regrettable and leave it at that. We're not talking about the hair, either."How could we let each other wear that?" Oregon winces as he looks back on some of the photographs in the family photo album that Connecticut's put together and sent to everyone last Christmas.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah, I ran out of things for X. I've been reduced to chatspeak.  
**Trivia:** What was the Toledo War and what does Michigan mean by his Statehood?


	3. III

**Rating:** T for safety, and for some politics.  
**Warning: **Please know that what is contained here does not necessarily reflect what I think about certain circumstances. Also, some States have their aliases used.  
**Note: **With that said, I've been trying something new by doing dialogue and more interaction between States. I hope it doesn't backfire, and what the hell, this seems to be becoming a continuing series. Any suggestions for letters you'd like to see in the next alphabet? These are really good writing practice.

**

* * *

**

A

is for adventure; every day can be one, if you learn just how to look at things. America knows it, and he claims that it's "the source of all his powers." In reality, it's just a very useful family legacy, something America discovered as a child, and passed on to his "children." Almost every State has taken it to heart at one point or another, albeit in different ways. For Florida, Adventure means looking for Time Travel and general mischief. For Idaho, it's her work as the CIA. For Michigan, it's pranking, and usually on Ohio for an added adrenaline bonus. But for the aviator States, it's Flight, that being the biggest thing that binds them all together. It's something America, North Carolina, Texas and a certain pair of famous twins had puzzled over in a bicycle repair shop once. Even though it's been many years since Kitty Hawk, Flight has never stopped being interesting. And it hadn't taken long -all things considered- before America and his "children" had tried to _and succeeded in_ getting to the moon. After all, the final frontier _would_ make for the greatest adventure of all, wouldn't it?

**B **is for bureaucracy; possibly the direct opposite of the above, unless you're the sort of person who thinks filling out tax returns in triplicate is fun. America is relatively okay pushing paper for his President, working as something half secretary, half personal aide and all personal annoyance. Some of the States do the same for their governors, with emphasis on the some, since most can't be bothered. They claim to have better things to be doing with their time, but that's a little hard to prove when your idea of busy involves the world's craziest game. Then again, most governors, like most Presidents, learn to stop asking questions about what their charges do in their spare time after enough stories are told. Still, the one of the few things that doesn't change between the States, is that not one of them likes paperwork.

**C** is for crabs; the kind you eat, that is. Virginia watches as the boats come in off the York River, hauling in the crab pots, most of them filled with the blue crabs that she loves so much. Crabbing has been a part the areas around the York River since as long as people decided they could eat the shelled critters, making them a part of Virginia's history just as much as the river itself. But, the best part about the crabs, is the food that someone can make with them. Crab cakes, crab dips, stuffed crabs, crab soups- to Virginia, happiness is food made from her favorite crustacean.

**D** is for distinction; and also for deference. There are two halves to the South, really. The so-called "Upper" South, and the Deep South. The Upper South is a little more "civilized," a little less wild, and a lot more restrained, but no still less proud than its younger half. Virginia rules there, having always ruled there standing stalwart at the Mason-Dixon Line, an old relic of the past and she knows that she's in charge and tries not to revel in it _too_ badly. In the Deep South though, the States seem not to have leader, at least, not any more. It was South Carolina, once, the politician and planner among them, but he no longer leads, just advises for the most part. Texas is strongest of all of them, but he's never been good at leading, just acting, doing. Even Alabama, who is the Heart of Dixie has never wanted to lead. The Deep South does not need a leader, nor would it tolerate one, most likely. The States of that region are wilder, slower, radiating an air of a slow-moving brushfire, waiting to erupt into inferno, and would not care to be led. Though they bend to the Virginia when they must, the States of the Deep South are more content to at least play at being equals than to take orders.

**E** is excitement; they are eminently preoccupied with it, America's family. Nothing is any fun unless it involves some dose adrenaline, even those like Pennsylvania and Maryland who are more scholarly than thick-headed and danger-seeking, they still find excitement in what they do. Pennsylvania finds his excitement in his books, reading about what he considers to be "rather inaccurate" accounts of his family's history, and seeing just how they got it wrong. For Maryland, however, the excitement comes from seeing whether or not he sets winds up setting himself on fire when he mixes dangerous chemicals together without actually trying to figure what will happen first, other than a hypothesis of "It's going to be really cool when I mix this stuff up."

**F** is for freefall; there's only so fast you can fall. The scientific name for it is terminal velocity, and it's the precise measurement of exactly how fast something is dropping before it hits the ground, _splat_, a big smear on the ground, or perhaps a crater if the mass of a falling object is large enough. Everything rational in your head tells you not to jump out of the plane, but you take the leap of faith anyway because you have this sneaking suspicion that the view alone is going to make the whole experience worthwhile. But you can drop so fast, you can only speed up so much, head down, pointed like a falcon before the whole thing settles out and you're physically unable to go any faster. It's the moment that skydivers live for, when the bottom drops out and you finally, finally feel like you're flying. For Texas, he jumped out of that particular plane before he ever even knew about planes or physics, when Louisiana decided that she liked rebels and he thought she was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. It's been over a hundred years since then, and both of them have done some growing up, Texas out of rebellion and into engineering, Louisiana from precocious young thing to business suits and voodoo, New Orleans style. Despite all of that, and probably because of that, Texas finds that even today, he is still falling for her. The world around him is whipping past as fast as it possibly can, and all he can possibly think is; "Wow," happy, dazed; flying.

**G** is for grand; Mississippi watches her river from inside of it, a part of its flow, feeling it warp and weave and rush around her, pounding in her heart and in her ears, carrying her downstream towards the Gulf. This is power, she thinks, feeling her river sweep her, forever wild, always pushing at its banks. Mississippi has always been so aware of herself, of all her components, her parts and pieces, the things that make her _her_, a quality that it seems that none of the other States have, or have learned to ignore. But Mississippi _cannot_ ignore those things, and never has been able to. In the past, that sort of awareness had caused her immense pain, and for over a hundred years Mississippi had been lost in it, unable to think for herself, barely aware of her immediate surroundings, easily led by her politicians as she had tried to gather herself, to divine which of her people was more important. The leaders came and told her quietly that it was the men with the lighter skin that were hers, not the darker men, that mattered most, and women of either race were to no importance. Veiled looks of disgust had always lingered on their faces as they said those things, knowing that they could only work around her so far, hating that she was in their eyes barely human, female and darker skinned. But the river has always been the same. Growing larger in some places, spawning rivulets in the dirt to become streams trailing away, yes, but the river has never lied to her. The river has always been there, and one of the few unchanging facts of Mississippi's long life. And now, her people are working towards a better future. It had taken _so long_, but they're working now, together, more or less because Mississippi is _never_ going to see her people fighting each other again. She loves them too much to let them.

**H** is for healer; Minnesota has nearly always been one, and despite his absolutely shitty bedside manner, he's a surprisingly good doctor. He had started doctoring during the Civil War; too many bodies, too much blood, too much pain. So he decided then, that he was going to make it stop. Or at the least, do what he could to make it less horrible. Minnesota hadn't been very old, then, physically. Maybe in his early teens. But Ms. Dix let him run about, gathering up bandages, administering what medications they had. Eventually, he learned to stitch wounds as well as how to mend clothes. Minnesota earned an enormous amount of life skills, acting as a nurse for that war. But it hadn't been until the Great War that Minnesota had gotten to be the doctor, and no longer the nurse. That war was also what made the State the grumpy smoker he is today. And in every war since then that America has fought in, Minnesota has gone, grumbling and complaining to save as many lives as he can. When asked why he still bothers, he says that it's the inability to put down the trade he picked up 150 years ago, and that he doesn't know any other skills save sewing. That's probably a big part of it, but really, Minnesota is a healer and an optimist to his core, no matter what he says otherwise.

**I** is for incendiary; Nebraska is grinning. Well, she's usually grinning, but when she grins like _this_… Usually Michigan or North Dakota is the one to come up with the schemes in the Troublemakers. One of them points, and Nebraska salutes, then gleefully bounces off to pants someone, or to set the bear trap under the water cooler. She grins then, as she loves chaos and mischief in all its slightly more benign forms. But sometimes, Nebraska grins in a certain way that makes Michigan and North Dakota hide in the bunker the Dakotas built in their backyard during the 50s. Her eyes get too big, and she usually starts hunting around for where Indiana keeps the gasoline in his mechanic's garage, even though he's tried to lock her out of his garage many times. Honestly, trying to lock Nebraska out is slightly more futile than locking Florida out. Florida at least thinks of a new and interesting way every time to get around Indiana's security. Nebraska just cheerfully smashes the lock off the door with a wrench she found lying around and moves on. No, when Nebraska gets that look, the rest of the Midwest knows to lie low for a while. After all, most people don't want to be on the end of a grin that loudly announces "I'm going to set someone on fire in the immediate future."

**J** for Jets; New Jersey parades around in her green Jets jersey, strutting about happily. _"When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way…"_ New Jersey sings happily, stepping around, doing what Massachusetts assumes is the dance that goes along with that particular showtune. _"From your first cigarette, to your last dyin' day…"_

"You know, you're doing it wrong." New York informs her. The other State glares at him, and New York shakes his head. "Trust me. My team-" another glare, bigger this time "fine, _our_ team" he corrects himself in a show of diplomacy Massachusetts would have thought New York was incapable of. "-And my showtunes. Like this."

"_When you're a Jet, if the spit hits the fan, you got brothers around, you're a family man!" _New York screeches, his terrible, terrible voice blending with New Jersey's barely passable one as he leads her through the steps, snapping his fingers and stepping in the sort of way that Massachusetts has never been able to figure out how he does. It has to be a Broadway thing.

"_You're never alone, you're never disconnected!" _The two Mid Atlantic States sing together, a goofy smile on New York's face, a weird sort of grin on New Jersey's,_ "You're home with your own: when company's expected, you're well protected!" _They stride away to in the direction of the Meadowlands to watch the next game, and Massachusetts wonders if they plan on catching a cab, or just dancing their way to the stadium.

"You guys are really weird!" He calls out, but the two football fans ignore him, lost in the song and dance that in time has become theirs and theirs alone.

**K** is for kitchen; Tennessee hums happily to herself as she stirs the chicken soup, the radio on, the house smelling good. Her "family" is coming over to dinner tonight, Kentucky, Virginia and West Virginia, though she didn't tell either of the last two that the other was coming. North Carolina is coming too, and bringing his older brother, who has promised to be a "perfect gentleman." Tennessee's going to have to deal with some fighting later, probably, but she doesn't care too much. It's hard for people to fight when they're asking for thirds. This is Tennessee's happiest place, here in her kitchen. There's a roast ham in the oven, an apple pie cooling on the counter and Tennessee is in her apron. As Tennessee checks on the roast, someone knocks on the door, and Tennessee calls for them to come in. Kentucky walks in, his fiddle in hand, hanging his coonskin hat on the hat rack, smiling and greeting her loudly. The Carolina brothers walk in behind him, and Tennessee shouts a hello, smiling and hefting the roast carefully out of the oven. She puts the roast down and takes of her potholders, and walks into the parlor. Tonight's going to be a goodnight, definitely.

**L** is for luck; something Rhode Island does not have much of. The ginger-headed State is the shortest in his family, just a tall pair of shoes away from five feet, three inches tall. Needless to say, Rhode Island wears boots, all the time. Unlucky State number thirteen, Rhode Island seems to be cursed with everything his number stands for. When he was little, it meant that he was the one the other fledgling States picked on. Now, Rhode Island is still little, and even though he's older now, the other States still pick on him. Mostly, Rhode Island hangs around with his neighbor, Connecticut who at least never makes fun of him. Connecticut has lately become the chronicler of his friend's terrible luck, every freak accident, most of the oven fires, and more or less every time Rhode Island gets hit by a cyclist. Mostly all Rhode Island can do is be thankful that he heals quickly, and try to keep his dignity as best he can. Which is quite a feat, after one gets hit by a random, and when one's fear of birds also includes sparrows and pigeons.

**M** is for motivation; "Penn." Delaware says his name again, standing at the edge of his bed, trying very hard not to sigh. The lump under the covers groans and rolls a little. "Penn, you need to wake up." She repeats herself for the fourteenth time. The lump of covers groans louder, muffled by its own bulk. "Penn, you went to sleep at two o' clock in the afternoon." Delaware chides exasperatedly. "_Two days ago_." She stresses. "You've been out of commission for over 24 hours now. Now I know it's not a record for you or anything, but I can't cover for you indefinitely." She tells the lump. "Besides, there's a meeting today, and it's at my place. I even rented a nice conference room for the four of us-" The lump rolls over once more, something that sounds very close to a muffled swear emanating from the mound. Delaware twitches, then sighs, grabbing the pillow, repeating to herself that _she is above resorting to violence_-

-The lump that is Pennsylvania groans again, and this time an arm pops out long enough to fumble blindly for a pillow, which it throws and Delaware, connecting with her face on a lucky shot-

"-All right. Let him have it, Pete." Delaware sighs, trying very hard not to react to the enormous, malicious grin that breaks out over the face of her backup on this operation.

"With pleasure, Annie." New York replies with relish, rolling up the sleeve on his precious navy-blue windbreaker. New York whips the covers off of Pennsylvania, disentangling what he can in one swift motion. Then, while Pennsylvania shouts from the cold of losing his protective cocoon, New York dumps a bucket of frigid water over the Keystone State. Pennsylvania screeches at the worse cold, and jumps straight up. New York, laughing like a madman, bolts from the room, and presumably from Pennsylvania's house altogether if the sound of an engine turning over outside and the shouts of "Joisey start the car!" are anything to go by.

Pennsylvania shakes himself a little, shivering in his soaked undershirt and boxers, glaring at Delaware, all hints of sleep gone now. Delaware just smiles at him. "Good morning, Dan." She greets him calmly enough. "You might want to take a shower to warm up before you go out, since it's a little chilly today. The regional meeting is at my place, so you really should take the time to get clean and dress nicely, okay?" Still smiling, finally letting herself grin, just a little, the eldest State walks out of Pennsylvania's house, leaving the shaking, shivering Keystone State to his rudely started morning.

**N **is for New England; where there are no girls, which makes it rather like the internet. The five of them are pretty tightly knit, even giving the insular South a run for their money. The family is made up of two blonde, law enforcement-loving brothers, plus three redheads who are highly dysfunctional at best, and caustic at their worst. Rhode Island and Massahucsetts have _never_ liked each other, which is something that New Hampshire cheerfully assures Maine when his two "brothers" start fighting in the regional meeting once again. Maine just groans quietly, and lets his head thump into the conference table as Massachusetts roars after the smallest State waving his bat around as if he's going to brain Rhode Island with it, which is altogether possible. He figures it's only going to be so long before Vermont runs out of patience and breaks up the fight with a scary smile and two pairs of handcuffs.

**O** is for overhead; Kansas looks up at the sky above the prairie, blue in the same shade as his eyes, lying comfortably on his back, watching the clouds go by. A slight wind runs through the grasses, rustling the high yellowed stalks, a familiar hum of noise that comforts the State. Kansas closes his eyes and breathes in, drawing in the scents of the wind and the grass. Nothing is still out here, and yet it is the most peaceful place he has ever found in his many travels and inhumanly long life. Kansas opens his slowly, looking back at the clouds, looking for shapes, omens and dreams, immersed in the prairie, and surrounded by a land that is closer to heaven than anything he has ever known.

**P** is for preposterous; "Hey, did you know that the penny is only made of copper on the surface?" Michigan says to Texas one day, reading a magazine while minding the front of Indiana's garage. Texas is here to loiter around, and maybe help Indiana fix a car or two, and also to bring over a few sketches of designs he wanted to show the Michigan and the mechanic State. Indiana is in the back room, changing the oil on a customer's minivan, so Texas is sitting out front while he waits. "It's actually tin once you get into its core."

Texas looks up from his blueprints at the sound of Michigan's voice. "Yeah, ya didn't know that, Michigan?" He responds, slightly confused.

"Of course I did!" Michigan smoothly lies through his teeth. "But, uh, hey, why _is_ it tin on the inside?" He asks the cowboy curiously. "I mean," he covers for himself, "I know, but I want to know if _you_ know."

"Oh." Texas says, accepting Michigan's lie without question. "Well, it's 'cause if they made the penny all out of copper, it would cost eight cents to make." Texas explains. "Considering it's only worth one cent-" The tall State gears up for a ramble, his eyes starting to get far away behind his glasses.

Michigan, recognizing the signs, swiftly cuts the cowboy off. "Yeah, I get it. I'm in sales, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah." Texas says, returning to his blueprints after a moment of silence.

The silence lasts for a couple more minutes as Michigan stares at the magazine, the wheels in his head turning almost audibly. Eventually, a light bulb turns on somewhere in his sharp businessman's mind. "So, if it costs eight cents to make a penny out of copper, and the dime is smaller than a penny, it should only cost around six or seven cents to make a copper dime, right?" Michigan thinks out loud, those wheels still turning.

"Well, yeah, I guess so-" Texas starts with a frown before Michigan talks over him again. 'Rhetorical' doesn't mean much to Texas.

"So why don't they just start minting copper dimes, and make a killing?" He asks no one in particular, a pointy little smile appearing on his face. Texas looks up at his friend, spotting the telltale expression that signifies one of Michigan's infamous Plans. "I mean, if you started putting out dimes that were physically cost less than their economic worth, then that would help out our overall economy, since we'd be spending less at the mints." Michigan continues to speak, absently jotting down the figures on his magazine with a nearby pen. "Heck, we could even recall people's dimes, and melt down the silver."

Suddenly, the prankster State stands up from his seat behind the counter of the garage storefront desk, causing the chair to go toppling over. Texas winces at the noise, and watches disturbed as Michigan stares into space with an oddly focused look in his eyes, the magazine full of figures in hand.

Texas frowns and tries to warn his friend of his mistake before he can leave. "Michigan, I don't think dimes-" but before he can finish the thought, Michigan cuts him off again.

"Mind the store, will you, Tex?" Michigan says absently, walking out of the store. "I gotta go talk to some people; maybe Florida." With that, the prankster State had gone.

"What's up?" Indiana announces genially as he walks into the room, wiping his hands on an already oily rag, victim to unfortunate timing. "I heard a noise-" Indiana thinks about that for a moment. "Oh no." He continues the thought, his stomach dropping. "Where's Michigan?" The mechanic asks Texas, sounding frustrated, and just a little bit worried, his face starting to pale. "Am I going to have to pay his bail again? Because the last time he left without telling me on some screwball scheme of his-"

Texas cuts off the harried mechanic as he begins to look truly worried and uncomfortable. "Don't worry about it, Indy." Texas tells him, going back to his blueprints. "At least, not anymore than you normally would, 'cause, ya' know…" Texas gestures with an expression that's half grin, half grimace. "…Michigan."

"That doesn't help at all!" Indiana half-shouts.

Texas just shrugs at the mechanic. "Look, I don't think he'll be able to get anything done anyway, since he ran out before I could tell him that dimes aren't really made of silver anymore."

Indiana looks at Texas in blank confusion for a moment or two before throwing his grease-stained hands up into the air. "You know what;"

Texas almost, almost asks; 'What?' But he doesn't. Sometimes, Texas is able to read the atmosphere, and when he does catch glimpses of what other people instinctively understand, he pays very close attention to listening to what he glimpses.

That's it." Indiana declares, exasperated. "I give up. Michigan can go and get himself arrested on his own time. Next time he shows up, I'm locking him out."

**Q** is for quirky; West Virginia has always been perplexed by Maine's hobbies. He knows that his friend is really a huge nerd, but he still likes him anyway. That's probably a big part of why West Virginia likes him, even. He's just never thought about it much, honestly. Maine is Maine is Maine, and that's all that matters, right? He loves long Star Trek marathons and the collection figurines in his bedroom, his job as Naval Intelligence and watching the sunrise in the morning because out of all the States, he's the one that gets to see it first, and so he wakes up early every morning to watch it, even when it's stupidly cold out and he turns blue. Maine loves coffee to a fault, drinking enough that it would damage the kidneys of an ordinary human, probably. He loves lobster and snow cones and corny movies with bad effects like Godzilla which West Virginia does think is kind of awesome. Maine isn't nearly as much of a quiet guy as most people think he is when you get him away from his family. And that's definitely one of the biggest reasons that West Virginia and Maine are still friends after so long and being so different; Maine stops West Virginia from doing something stupid, and West Virginia tries every single day to get Maine out of his shell. Even if Maine can only be himself when almost no one else is watching, west Virginia doesn't care. It's one of the things they talked about after about 50 years of being friends; they're in it for and because each other's quirks, not in spite of them.

**R** is for rivalry; The Carolinas have been getting one-upped by Virginia since before any of them appeared. Roanoke versus Jamestown. The Lee's Virginia Plan beating out South Carolina's Pickney Plan by less than a minute and mere chance of who was called to speak first. And at what he had at one point considered his most glorious moment, Virginia had pulled the rug right out from South Carolina and found herself the sudden crux of the Civil War. Just the thought of how thoroughly she had managed to steal an entire war from him makes South Carolina subconsciously grind his teeth in frustration. He and his brother have long been rivals of Virginia's, though North Carolina does not care as much as his older brother. But South Carolina seems to be forever fixated on how Virginia has constantly bested him in life and in history. The worst part is, though, is that it's all been by complete and total accident. Virginia doesn't have the faintest idea about the Carolina brothers' "glorious rivalry" with her, and the brothers know she doesn't know, too. It's kind of pathetic really.

**S** is for spring; Alaska sits next to Nevada on a park bench one spring day in Philadelphia, relaxing quietly after the chaos of the States' meeting. It's not too warm for Alaska, and it's not too cold for Nevada. This time of spring, when the snows are melting on the east coast and winter gives up its grip is the perfect time for the two of them. It's a balance between the harshness of winter of the softness that comes with spring. The two States sit together watching people go by, a little overdressed after the meeting, but not minding it terribly. Pennsylvania was the one to host this latest meeting and had promptly slept through it after his opening statement. New York had said something obnoxious and gotten punched by Virginia for his troubles. Colorado had turned a rather spectacular shade of red next to Nebraska, who once again must have said something lewd, judging from the size of the grin on the ginger's face. Eventually, everything had dissolved into shouting once South Carolina started filibustering, and Pennsylvania had adjourned the meeting once Delaware elbowed him in the face to wake him up. All in all, it was a fairly standard meeting for the 50 States, really. So now, after all the shouting and insanity, Nevada and Alaska are content to just sit on the bench in a park near the hotel they're staying at, watching life go by in the changing season. S is also for the silence; the contented kind that comes when two people don't have to say anything in order to speak.

**T** is for teaching; "One, two, three, one, two, three." Georgia counts serenely in her studio. She has her littlest "brother" firmly by the hands and is moving gracefully to the sounds of the music that's coming out of the boom box the Virgin Islands is holding in her lap. "See, it's just a few easy steps." Georgia says encouragingly to American Samoa.

The Territory shuffles around uneasily in the oversized combat boots he was given for Christmas last year, making the sort of disgruntled face only young boys know how to make. "This is stupid. I don't want to learn how to ballroom dance." He complains as Georgia leads him around the floor of her dance studio. "I'm bad at dancing anyway."

America left the Territories and Commonwealths at Georgia's house for the week since he had to go overseas for business. Normally either Tennessee or Delaware would be watching after them in America's absence, but right now, Tennessee is somewhere in the Everglades hunting for her kitchen which suddenly went missing last week presumably from Florida related weirdness, and Delaware is enjoying a well deserved vacation from her family's insanity in an undisclosed location in order to prevent said familial insanity from catching up with her. Which in plain English means Georgia has to watch the kids while America is gone, because anyone else who would do it is busy.

"Don't be such a baby. I teach kids half your size how to do this." Georgia chastises the sulking Territory as she sweeps him around the floor of her studio. The little Territory is anything but graceful and he really doesn't seem to be enjoying this at all, but if Georgia has to watch the kids, she's going to teach them something, useful dammit. Like the waltz. Waltzing is always useful at formal functions like government dinners. Because Territories that look about eight are definitely going to have to go to a government event. Yes.

While Georgia's thought process takes a complete and utter turn from what others would consider sane, American Samoa gets a look like a light bulb went on over his head. He opens his mouth to say whatever it is he just thought of, but Georgia cuts him off in a singsong voice, her eyes still shut. "If the next words out of your mouth are that 'this is unauthorized,' you're learning how to gavotte next." American Samoa's mouth snaps shut with an audible click. Georgia smiles at him as she returns to counting. "One, two, three."

**U** is for ululate; it always comes back to football. Outsiders looking in can hardly understand the rules to the game, or why it should matter so much, as after all, what _hell_ is a down anyway, and why do you need four of them to win? Besides, the name football is already taken, by a far superior sport, or so says the entire world outside of America's family. Rugby is infinitely more satisfying, and England and his family scoff at the mere suggestion of a helmet_._ Honestly. _Helmets_. But America doesn't care, and the States don't care, and they certainly never will. Because all it takes is a Hail Mary pass into the endzone and the States are _screaming_, adrenaline pouring through their veins whether they watch or play. Baseball might be the national pastime, but football has the entire family gripped by their heartstrings.

**V** is for vicious; America stumbles. He does it often, and with some consistency, in regards to nearly everything he touches. Parenting is not excluded from the list of his duties he has in the past fallen short of fulfilling with adequacy, and on some level, he knows it. By some miracle, he succeeded with the Philippines, and though Hawaii has forgiven him for her mother, though America doubts that Puerto Rico will ever trust him completely, and Oklahoma will most likely never forget what was done to his uncles at America's hand even if he has forgiven. And it is not only his children that he has injured, but his friends as well. England, Mexico, Japan- America thinks he cannot entirely forget what he did to that last. But he does not regret, not quite. He has forgiven Japan, and likes to hope that Japan at the least understands why he did what he did. America's greatest weakness has always been his children. It had taken that war to make America realize that the non-continentals were just as much a part of his family as any of the other States had been as Territories, as well as the fact that he would go to _any_ length to keep them safe. Hawaii to this day remembers the way America had looked at her when he had found her after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the way his eyes had been blazing as he had bled from multiple wounds, because she had not been the only one attacked on December 7th, the way they he had chased all of his own pain out of his eyes and replaced them with the fire of a raw, raging industry suddenly controlled and given a purpose. The Philippines remembers the day America had sworn that he would return to her after it seemed Japan had won, the way his voice had nearly broken as he had retreated. She remembers the day that he _had_ returned, storming up the beaches to find her, hunting like a man possessed for the young girl he had left behind, eyes wild and haunted, so far from triumphant even at the moment of victory. And Guam remembers the day that America had taken him up and pulled him into that familiar bomber jacket, hissing lowly to Japan that he must leave, and _never_ threaten one of his children again. They all remember blue eyes burning with cold steel and fierce protection, a giant woken to defend what was his.

**W** is for welcoming; Iowa's got his own brand of hospitality, that sort of stops at welcoming you to his house, and then kind of peters out awkwardly rather quickly from there. Iowa's stupidly stubborn in an odd sort of passive aggressive way, and not so great at making concessions. He's got a lot of peculiarities about him, and tends to like people who can be just as stubborn as he is. He likes contrariness, and people who others would usually find unpleasant, which more or less explains his good friendship with Minnesota, the utter grouch. Still, once you Iowa decides that he likes you, you've got an ally you can count on for life.

**X **is for _xocoatl_; also known as chocolate. The kids from the Mexican Cession brought it into the family first, bitter as all hell and as they claimed, good for you. Of course, those two things never last long around America, who loves his coffee full of milk and sugar and when he can manage it, whipped cream for extra fattening power. In any case, it wasn't long until chocolate became a new family favorite. The bad decision, of course, might have been introducing Pennsylvania to the new sweet, and letting him to improve it. It had been something that Delaware really should have seen coming and prevented. Because after his first bite, the scholarly second State's eyes had gone wide open and manic, and Pennsylvania found himself a chocoholic for life.

**Y** is for Y2K; A lot of the States had done their share of stocking up for the inevitable end of the world in 1999. They had gotten the shotguns, and the canned food, filled their bathtubs with water, and, frightened, waited for The End. When The End had not come, the ones in their bunkers had looked at each other, and laughed. The gullible ones, the silly ones, the prepared ones; they laughed. They turned red, embarrassed, but they'd all had the good grace to laugh about it, and make jokes. How stupid they'd been, they'd told each other. How silly they'd been to believe that the world was ending. Now, of course, it comes close to 2012, and it only took Mexico and his States maybe three to five calls each about a certain calendar before they learned to stop answering their phones entirely when receiving a call with an American area code.

**Z** is for zain; Wyoming looks at the stallion, all thunder and storm driving winds. It snorts, it rears, it _stares_ at the State, knowing that she will try to ride it, to break it. The stallion very much _does not want to be broken_. It will fight her to the ends of the Earth if she even entertains the thought that she could tame. Wyoming smiles at it. She doesn't want to break the stallion. After all, taming the creature would take the lightning out of it, that magnificent-purple-quicksilver-fire. Taming the stallion would make it just a horse. No, Wyoming doesn't want to break the stallion. She wants to ride it. So she smiles and the creature stares back, challenging the State, snorting in defiance. Wyoming mounts the stallion her, blood humming in her veins, and someone unlatches the gate, and the stallion bolts free, into the ring, into the camera glare; into glory.

* * *

**Historical Note(s):** In H is for healer, the Ms. Dix reffered to is Dorothea Dix. Look her up, if you don't know about her. She was pretty awesome, as a reformer for insane asylums, and also as a nurse during the Civil War on the side on the Union. But, despite being on the side of the Union officially, she also treated Confederate wounded equally, most notably when Lee left 5,000 wounded behind at Gettysurg, and Dix's nurses cared for them, saving what lives they could in the abysmal conditions.


End file.
